70S 
Ci6e RURAL NEW-YORKER 
When Mildred Promised 
The young man and the older one left 
their work in the melon patch to pause a 
moment under the wild cherry tree in the 
fence corner. 
“There’s no use saying a word about 
it, Henry,’’ said the elder. “If it was 
any other girl in Pleasant Valley I’d tell 
you to go ahead, but Shipton’s daughter 
is a little too much for my blood.” 
lie waited an instant; there was no 
reply, and he continued : “Look at this 
field; it’s as level as the back of your 
hand. There isn’t a stone or weed on it. 
What was it 10 years ago'? Swamp—• 
nothing but swamp, skunk and rocks. 
There isn’t a better piece of land now in 
all outdoors, and we’ll clear .$500 if we 
make a dollar out of the melons on it. 
We’ve got 200 acres just like it. 
“Now, just glance over that fence; that 
land belongs to Sbipton. What is it? 
Nothing but blackberry bushes, because it 
hasn’t been cared for. lie owns 90 more, 
and it’s all in the same shape. A hun- 
<lred acres of land, and he buys oats for 
his horses and doesn’t keep a cow at all. 
No, sir! No son of mine ever marries a 
daughter of any man as shiftless as 
Sbipton.” 
"llildrecl isn’t responsible for what—” 
began the son; but the father cut him 
short. 
“It’s bred in the bene; they’re all alike. 
I will own that the mother was a likely 
woman as I ever met, but she’s gone 
where farms can’t run to blackberry 
bushes and sumac. 
"Maybe you don’t know it, but I’ve got 
a .$900 mortgage on that 100 acres; it 
has been running 10 years now and apt to 
run 10 years more, so far as I can figure. 
I’ve worked hard for every cent 1 ever 
had, and I don’t locate my money in 
that place, the way things are going. 
Besides, last year’s taxes aren’t paid 
yet.” 
“It isn’t the farm I’m after,” said the 
young man slowly. “It’s Mildred; but it 
might not be a bad business idea to marry 
her, and then take hold of that farm and 
bring it up where it should be. You’d 
get your money back then, father.” 
“Yes, and let her throw out faster with 
a spoon than you could pitch in with a 
shovel. You’ll never try it with my con¬ 
sent.” 
“Nevertheless, I intend to marry her, if 
she’ll have me, and I shall ask her to¬ 
night,” the young man spoke quietly. 
On the other side of the fence from 
among the blackberry bushes a girl ap- 
I»eared, facing them. 
“Excuse me,” she said in a sweet, low 
voice, “but I believe that I have been 
eavesdropping long enough.” 
The young man flushed crimson, but he 
walked over to the fence and leaned 
against it, while the father, looking 
straight into the gray eyes gazing in his, 
said bluntly; 
“There’s an old saying, Mildred .Ship- 
ton, that listeners never hear any good of 
themselves. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your 
feelings, but perhaps it’s just as well; 
you know now where I stand in this 
matter.” 
“I have known for some time,” was her 
quick response. 
“I don’t want to offend you, Mil¬ 
dred ; you’re as good as the average; but 
I’ve worked and saved and worked for 
40 years, all for the sake of giving Henry 
a little easier life than I have had, and I 
don’t want him to marry a girl who’ll 
keep his nose to the grind rock as mine 
has always been.” 
“I’ve been picking blackberries here 
for nearly an hour,” said Mildred, and I 
couldn’t help hearing the conversation. I 
gather from it that you object to lUe be¬ 
cause my father doesn’t work his farm 
and we owe you money on a mortgage. 
Is that it’;”’ 
“Your father is as shiftless as a South¬ 
ern cracker. How am I to know that 
you are not a berry from the same twig?” 
“I very probably am,” she said calmly. 
There was silence again; then she 
turned toward the young man beside her, 
and her voice held the cadences of wind 
music. 
“Henry, I wish you would not come to¬ 
night to ask me what you told your father 
you would. Keep the <|uestion until the 
mortgage is paid, and then I will answer 
you as you wish.” 
She did not wait for a response. Be¬ 
fore either one could grasp the meaning 
of her words she had disapi)eared among 
the bushes on the Shipton side of the 
fence. 
July ripened into Augmst, that gave 
Avay to the maturer beauty of September, 
and in all that time Henry had no oppor¬ 
tunity to meet Mildred. Twice he called 
at her home; both times she was gone; 
several letters he wrote received no ac- 
knovvledgment beyond a note containing 
the line, “Wait till the mortgage is paid.” 
The October leaves of the bu.shes in the 
blackberry field were red as the July ber¬ 
ries had been when Mr. Matthews had a 
caller. She came up the graveled walk 
leading to the front door in a neat gray 
suit and a hat which crowned her head 
as the blossoms deck the vine, and bear¬ 
ing herself (piite proudly. She was .shown 
into the room, where he sat reading, his 
son by the far side of the table busy with 
accounts. He was the first to perceive 
her. and he sprang to his feet with a little 
exclamation of pleased surprise. But she 
did not heed him; her eyes were for his 
father. 
“Mr. Matthews,” she said, “I have 
come to pay that mortgage. Will you 
kindly figure up the amount due?” 
It was his turn to be surprised. “The 
mortgage,” he said, “why, yes, of course. 
Henry, will you get it for me? It is in 
that little tin trunk in that safe.” 
Henry left the room on his mission. 
How the money had been obtained was 
nothing to him ; she was his now; she had 
promi.sed; he could not find the paper 
quick enough and return where she was 
waiting. 
In that other room the older Matthews 
was saying: “I have not been hurrying 
you for the money ; so long as the interest 
was kept up-” 
“I know,” she interrupted—she was by 
far the cooler of the two—“but I wanted 
it out of the way. It has run too long 
now.” 
Henry returned, mortgage in hand. Ilis 
father took it from him and began tbe 
computing necessary. 
“It is dated Oct. 4,” he said ; “tomorrow 
is the fourth. It is for $9(X) at 6 per cent. 
One year’s interest is due; that makes 
just .$954.” 
“So I figured it,” she replied, and laid 
out a roll of bills in his hand. “Please 
count and see if all is correct.” 
She resumed her seat, sitting with her 
eyes fixed on the older man. She seemed 
to avoid the younger one, who stood so 
close beside her that .a little stretching 
would place her hand in his. When the 
money was counted and she held the mort¬ 
gage, she spoke again : 
“For years,” she said, “my father has 
been working on a certain invention. 
Everything has waited for it. Last Win¬ 
ter he finished and it did all he could ask, 
but he had no money for patents—noth¬ 
ing to push it in any way. He isn’t a 
farmer, doe.sn’t know anything about it, 
and had no time to spare to learn. I 
have been away at school and knew noth¬ 
ing of the sacrifices he was making to 
keep me there and carry forward his 
work. When I came home this Spring, 
then I learned.” 
She was silent for a moment, but be¬ 
fore they could speak she continued in a 
little firmer tone: “Then I went to 
work. I borrowed money for the first 
patent papers from a school friend and 
the application was made. This Summer 
I have picked berries and canned them ; I 
have put up fruit of all kinds for friends 
in the city. That old blackberry patch 
which you so disdained has brought me 
in nearly half of the mortgage money. 
Then the patents were granted and the 
father of my school friend has purchased 
half of my father’s patent. He pai(l 
.$(5,000 for it, and they both think it holds 
a large fortune for us all.” 
She rose and took a step toward the 
((’ontiinied on page 707) 
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